The Senior (College Years 4)

“Oh, Hatfield went out,” Gracie says, her voice full of disappointment.

My gaze frantic, I spot Eli on the sidelines, his helmet off, his expression one of bitter disappointment as he stands next to Caleb, their gazes on the field.

I’m dying to know what happened. But then again…

I’d rather not know anything at all.

Twenty-Seven

Eli

We lost. By a mother fuckin’ field goal.

I told Coach Harris to let me out on that field, but he wouldn’t hear it. Said the pressure was too much and it would get to me. He was afraid I’d choke. Worse, I think he believed I’d choke so badly that I’d throw an interception and let the other team score. Like he’s lost all faith in my ass, all because of one bad performance.

I guess that’s all it takes to ruin everything.

Marshall does his best, as does the rest of the team, but they can’t manage to get the ball down the field. They barely get it close enough for a field-goal attempt, but they try anyway, and the kicker misses it. It was too far anyway and would’ve broken a record if he’d made it, so no surprise he didn’t.

Can’t believe we fucking lost. So fucking frustrating. I can’t blame anyone else for the loss either. I sucked ass out on the field today and I don’t know what went wrong. I haven’t seen our fans this disappointed since last season. We were on a winning streak. I was their golden boy.

Now I’m an utter failure.

I storm off the field as fast as I can, the moment the clock turns zero, not wanting to stick around and talk to the media. I hear coaching staff yelling my name as I make my escape, but I don’t look back or respond. I know what they want. Me to stand out there and look grim while talking about missed opportunities and coming back stronger next week.

Fuck that. I’d rather say nothing at all.

The rest of the team stays out there for a while longer, I’m sure earning the approval of Coach, while I’m in the locker room taking a shower, eager to get the fuck out of here.

No luck though. The second I walk out of the showers with a towel around me, there’s Coach, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed as he contemplates me.

“You left.”

“What was I supposed to say? Sorry I fucked up, better luck next week?” I go to walk by him, but he steps in my way, blocking me. “I know you wanted me to talk to reporters. I’m afraid I would’ve said something shitty and made it worse.”

He nods, respecting my explanation, only because he knows it’s true. I went off a few times last season and made an ass of myself. “You still should have talked to them. A couple of losses in the seasons won’t ruin your career, Bennett.”

A sigh leaves me. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure.”

“I know. Both on the field and off. Heard about you and your girl getting back together.” He raises his brows. “A coincidence?”

“No,” I spit out. Anger rises within me and I tamp it down. I don’t want him blaming Ava for any of this—even though I’ve blamed her for some of it. Funny how every time I have sex with her, my concentration goes to shit.

“You can’t let the personal stuff get in your head and mess with your game,” Harris says, his voice lowering, his gaze serious. “Don’t you want to be in the NFL?”

I nod. Of course I do. He knows this.

“Then don’t let your emotions spill onto the field. From what I’ve seen, you’ve really improved this season compared to last and your focus is razor sharp—until today. Straighten up, Bennett. You’ve got this. You’ve had it all season, every game day. We’re so close to the end goal. Don’t get distracted now,” he continues.

“Yeah, I know. Listen, it’s been a rough twenty-four hours. Some stuff is happening with my mom,” I admit. “She got in a car wreck last night.”

“Oh no. Is she all right?” I see the concern etched in his face, and it’s reassuring. He’s a good guy. Hard on us sometimes, especially me, but he means well. And I think I need someone to be hard on me sometimes to keep me in line.

“She’s good. I think. I need to call her.” I haven’t talked to anyone in hours. I have no idea how it went with Ava getting her. I didn’t even bother checking my phone when I got in the locker room, I was too intent on getting the hell out of here.

“Definitely check up on her, she’s your mom. And let me know what’s going on. But—maybe ease up on the relationship stuff, you know what I mean?” He sends me a look and I frown. “I don’t mean to get in your personal business, son, but I have to when it’s impacting our team. Seems to me you were playing at your best when you were single. And now you’re back with that girl who broke your heart and you’re a mess. Think about that.”

Coach walks away before I can protest or argue, and his words stay with me. Sink into my brain. Seep into my bones.